Our Story Wasn't Told Well
by Merida's Hair
Summary: Regina turns around, and her eyes are intense and red-rimmed. The only evidence of her makeup was a few black smudges that she probably couldn't hide away. She looks different in the rain. Like a water-logged lost puppy. That was terrible. Emma Swan, you are terrible at metaphors. Okay, like a water-logged slightly murderous puppy. Better. Pre-Swan Queen.


A/N: Prompt from imagine-your-otp on tumblr: _Imagine Person A of your OTP in the rain, looking like a lost puppy. Person B sees them, and wraps an arm around them, with an umbrella in their other hand. Person A feels a lot better._

I changed a few things around, however. I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

Emma is pretty drunk. Not _really_ drunk, but drunk enough to flip the bartender the bird when he confiscated the keys to her bug. She walked past it forlornly, lamenting on how much she missed it's shitty and uncomfortable seats and wheezy heater in lieu of the miserable weather now making itself at home by ruining Emma's favorite leather jacket and ruining her already lackluster hair.

Fighting with Mary Margaret left Emma feeling like someone kicked her in the stomach before _hey_ it turns out she was actually her mother, but now the feeling has just intensified about fourteen times. And now she was car-less. In the rain. And _yep_, she held her phone at an awkward angle so the rain wouldn't hit in, that was dead too. She feels like kicking something. Like the wall. She should kick the wall.

Seriously, the icing to this cake would be Regina just suddenly-

_Oh you've got to be kidding me._

She ducks a little behind her bug, feeling kind of ridiculous because everything is swaying and blurred and _obviously _Regina isn't doing anything remarkably Evil Queen-y. Unless standing by oneself in the rain, without an umbrella, and looking for all the world like Gil Pender waiting for the next roaring twenties super star to whisk her away into the past is something Evil Queens did.

Shit, did she always make bad analogies while drunk?

She edges a little closer, keeping hold to the bug the whole time so she wouldn't fall. Regina is literally just. Standing there. It's disconcerting and heart-wrenching in a way that made Emma feel very uncomfortable. And sad. Unbearably sad, actually. Like Regina's grief was so palpable it was sucking out any last scrap of Emma's happiness too. Like the Dementor. Wraith. Whatever.

Actually that metaphor sucked, because she's pretty sure people don't _usually_ feel like comforting Dementors while inebriated. (Wraiths. _Whatever)_. Or identify with them on a deep level that she was in no way ready to admit to anyone, least of all herself. She finally edges off the bug, and stumbles her way into the stormy night to face her arch enemy.

This was probably not the way Henry envisioned this.

She steps behind her, and jams her hands into her soaking wet pockets. The effect is less bad-ass, walls up Sheriff, and more lost orphan looking to hide their sadness.

"Hey."

Regina turns around, and her eyes are intense and red-rimmed. The only evidence of her makeup was a few black smudges that she probably couldn't hide away. She looks different in the rain. Like a water-logged lost puppy. That was terrible. _Emma Swan, you are terrible at metaphors_. Okay, like a water-logged slightly murderous puppy. Better. Her jaw is quivering, and her hair is smoothed back. But those red-rimmed eyes are hard. Like she hadn't quite given up the fight on this dark night just yet.

_"Ms. Swan."_ She's chattering and visibly trying to stop. "Of course. Who else would be getting thrown out of a bar in the middle of the night?"

"Uh, Leroy?"

She makes a low 'hmph" noise. "I should have turned that idiot into a toad long ago. Along with his other dwarf friends."

Emma breathes. "Okay, you can stop the Evil Queen act. Seriously. It's weird."

Regina quirks a brow. "Weird? Out of every adjective you could have _possibly_ chosen, you choose _weird?"_

Emma tries the pocket technique again. She stops trying the pocket technique again. Out of everything she had to deal with today, she really, _really_ did not want to deal with claws-out Regina Mills today. Especially when it wasn't even warranted this time.

"So why are _you_ here, Your Majesty? Shouldn't you be ruling your subjects from your 1980's suburban mansion or something?"

For one, Regina doesn't register the quip. Or even roll her eyes. Or try to make a quip back. She crosses her arms and looks up at the sky, her lips quivering ever so slightly. Just the hint of whatever pain made Regina curse an entire land. Of whatever pain that cried out to be recognized, _validated_. Understood. Pain that Emma knows too well, and is too drunk to deal with. Among other things.

"My car broke down." Regina says simply. "The tow truck is late."

Emma's voice is low. "How late?"

"Seven hours." Regina nearly mutters, if Regina Mills ever muttered.

"Oh."

_Oh_. Shit. She runs a hand through her hair, and Regina gives her a confused look, her eyes completely devoid of any answers to this problem. When the answer is so obvious, and ridiculously painful that Emma can't even open her mouth to tell her that it takes approximately four minutes to drive from the Car Repair Shop to the Rabbit Hole.

That someone once again forgot Regina.

That someone hates Regina enough to leave her alone in the rain all night long.

And well, on another day Emma might have said good riddance, or if she's being honest for once, she would have tried to say it and failed, and well. It's apparently a shitty night for all of them.

"I'd give you an umbrella, but, uh, I don't have my keys."

Regina bristles and sniffs, but doesn't say anything.

She sighs and steps next to Regina, and the other woman tenses immediately. Emma links arms with her nemesis, as cautiously as one carries a tiny, priceless gem over a mountain. The smallest of touches. She doesn't say anything, and is very willing to let go if Regina were to push her away, and it takes many minutes, but Regina doesn't. She tightens her hold on Emma's arm. Emma inhales. Takes in the scent of her perfume, still lingering. Feels her hot breath on her cheek. And damn it all if Emma didn't feel somewhat comforted too.

"I'm freezing cold in this insufferable weather."

"Right."

"This doesn't make us friends."

Emma smiles wryly, and places her head on Regina's shoulder. "Of course not, Your Majesty."

Regina pushes her head off and Emma snorts.

Yeah, maybe this night didn't completely suck. Or maybe she's still too drunk to care.

Or _maybe_ she's just sick of battling Regina Mills, when it turns out both of them just needed to link arms and pretend nothing sucks together.


End file.
